Saturday Morning Algebra
by more-than-words
Summary: Faced with the answer to an equation but uncertain as to exactly how she arrived at the conclusion, Ruth decides to deploy new tactics in her bumbling relationship with Harry. Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Spooks. I don't own Saturday Kitchen, either. That gets a mention in here, too.

**Author's Note:** I was in dire need of fluff, so I wrote a story that's largely about algebra. I'm not quite sure how this happened. Hopefully it works! Oh, and it's set after 9.3 (or thereabouts) and ignores the rest of the series, mainly because to incorporate all the on-screen angsting would ruin the fluff. But fluff doesn't need to make that much sense, right? Hope you enjoy!

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It was funny, Ruth thought, how a person could go for years and years without thinking about something or someone at all and then abruptly have a dream about them out of the blue, seemingly for no good reason. As it was, thanks to a dream, she was now unable to stop thinking about algebra, of all things.

In particular, she couldn't stop thinking about the algebra she'd done at boarding school under the instruction of Mr Jennings, who had given her work meant for students four years older than she was because she found her own work too easy. She hadn't thought about the man in 25 years – if she had walked past him in the street every day she couldn't honestly say that she would've taken much notice – but had last night dreamed he was looming over her on the Grid, sitting on her desk and watching as she tried to solve impossibly long and complicated algebra problems.

The dream had bought back shuddering memories of her time at school, doing similar sums while sitting at the back of a chilly classroom on Saturday mornings. She'd always been able to get the answers easily – that wasn't the problem. Her problem had been proving how she arrived at the answer, her brain working too quickly for her reasoning to catch up with the result. It had been the cause of much consternation for Mr Jennings, who had had the arduous task of helping her unpick it all.

He'd frequently look at her work and tell her she had all of the answers right but only half the marks. "What's 'x'?" he'd ask her.

"X is 7," she'd answer with absolute certainty.

An ill-controlled sigh would often escape him at that point. "You and I both know that. But why is it 7? You can't have all the marks if you don't show how you worked it out. Otherwise it might as well just be a guess."

It had been a slow process, teaching herself to take a step back and look at things rationally instead of racing ahead – a slow process, but a worthwhile one that had ultimately played a massive part in her career.

But not such a massive part in her personal life, which had always been chaotic despite her best efforts and only seemed to get worse with age. Which was why, following her dream, Ruth found herself in the shower on Saturday morning, wondering whether it would be possible to apply the logic of algebra to the most complicated personal problem she had ever faced.

Harry had asked her to marry him. He'd asked her to marry him and she'd wanted to say yes; was more than convinced that yes was the right answer to his question. But she'd said no, because she hadn't been able to untangle the web of everything that had happened to them over the years. Now she was mentally kicking herself. She was tempted to actually kick herself, but she imagined that doing so while in the shower would prove to be something of a health and safety risk.

It was a few weeks since he'd popped the question, such as it had been (not a question, really; he'd made it more of a demand, as though he knew that blatantly offering her a yes/no choice was too risky). She'd tried to leave the whole matter well alone and had done so with some success, but… then he'd said what he did and now she was majorly doubting herself.

_Sometimes you have to give a man a chance to show you who he really is._

That had been niggling away at her ever since he'd uttered it and she wondered now if it had been that line that prompted her dream about Mr Jennings. Not that she wanted Mr Jennings to show her who he really was, of course, because that would be weird and all kinds of wrong, but… he'd taught her a lot about process, about breaking things down to the lowest common denominator and starting from there, discovering the components of things so they could be put back together and make more sense when they were. Maybe that was the solution, or at least the start of it.

Harry + marriage proposal = yes, please. It was a simple equation on the face of it. She just didn't know why it should have the answer that it did. There was too much extraneous matter and unnecessary information surrounding it for her to work out her reasoning.

She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she and Harry had done something together that hadn't been about work. That wasn't enough to base a marriage on, no matter how certain she was that 'yes' was the right answer. She needed to see the reasoning behind it. She needed to see the evidence, just like she did for everything else in her life. There was only one way she could think of to get it and… well, she thought that now was as good a time to start as any. Neither of them was getting any younger.

Ruth stepped out of the shower, dried herself and dressed hastily, suddenly on a very important mission. She clattered through her bedroom and into the hallway, dragging her handbag along the floor behind her as she tried to shove her arms into a cardigan and stamp her boots on at the same time. She had somewhere to be.

"Ruth?" Beth appeared from the living room, hair a fright and still wearing her pyjamas. The frantic sounds of something going wrong on _Saturday Kitchen_ could be heard emanating from the television behind her.

Somehow, she'd momentarily forgotten about Beth, used as she was to living alone. "Sorry. Just going out."

Her recently acquired flatmate was looking at her strangely. "You okay?"

"Yes, just… er. I might be about to do something stupid."

Now Beth looked worried. "Do you need help with something?"

_Patience, _said Mr Jennings inside her head. _Take your time and be patient. I'm here if you need help._ "I'm fine," she said to Beth, then promptly tottered into the wall as she _still_ couldn't get her boot on properly.

Beth took her arm and steadied her while she sorted herself out.

"Wish me luck," Ruth said.

"Okay." Beth clearly wasn't convinced but wisely didn't try and press her further.

Ruth nodded and then left, turning right out of the house and following a familiar route to the bus stop. She took a bus halfway into the centre of London, then a tube to Charing Cross, then walked the remaining distance to Harry's house.

She was so busy working out exactly what she was going to say to him to justify her presence that she rang the doorbell before she could collect herself. What if he wasn't in? Or worse, what if she just blurted everything out without thinking and made absolutely no sense? Both options were definitely within the realms of the possible.

The sound of a dog's paws thudding on the floor inside suggested Harry probably was in, especially when the scatty sounds of claws on wood were followed by the heavier gait of Harry striding towards the door. He opened the door and looked surprised to see her.

"Hello," she said, a little pathetically.

"Hi," he replied, recovering himself quickly. He stepped back to invite her in as though this was a perfectly ordinary occurrence.

Ruth stepped past him and then stopped by the foot of the stairs. Judging by the muffled sounds coming from the front room, James Martin was apparently cooking up a storm on Harry's TV, too.

"What's the matter?" He closed the door behind her.

She realised he thought she was here because of a problem – specifically, a work problem. She turned to find him already reaching for the phone that sat on his hall table, probably intending to ring the Grid to enquire about the current state of emergency. "Nothing," she said. "Well. Nothing work related."

"Ah." He put the phone down and took a step back, folding his arms across his chest.

It hurt to see him pull back from her so quickly, but then she supposed she'd hardly done anything to encourage him otherwise.

"Harry," she began. It seemed as good a start as any. Mr Jennings nudged her. _What are the key components of the problem, Ruth?_ "I've been thinking about what you said."

He shuffled on the spot and regarded her a little warily, but didn't say anything.

_Break it down to its constituent parts. _"About giving you a chance," she clarified. "And… the other thing. At the funeral." She looked down at the floor, because it was easier not to look at him when she thought she might cry at any moment. She decided to just spit it out as quickly as she could. At least then it would be out there and he could do with it what he would. _Don't guess at an answer until you've worked it out._ "When you… proposed… All I wanted to do was agree to marry you. But…"

She wasn't sure how to explain it to him without sounding either insane or mean.

"But what?" he eventually prompted, his tone sceptical, after a long pause of silence.

She blinked rapidly to try and clear the tears and then forced her head up. She looked over his shoulder. It was, at least, an improvement on the floor. _If you're having trouble working it out, stop and look back to see where you started going wrong._ "I just couldn't work out _why_. Why you wanted to, I mean. We've hardly seen each other outside of work and that doesn't seem like something you can base a marriage on. I mean… You might decide that you don't actually like me, after all."

That thought alone terrified her more than she had ever thought possible.

Harry softened slightly, dropping his arms to his sides and losing the suspicion from his gaze. "Do you really think that's what would happen?"

She shrugged. _Facts, Ruth. The facts._ "I don't know. All I know is that you asked me to marry you and I wanted to say yes, but… where's the reasoning behind it? Where's the proof? We've not spent much time together away from the Grid. I've never even seen the upstairs of your house."

His eyebrows shot up his forehead and a little smirk fixed itself to his lips.

"No! I didn't mean…" Ruth grimaced at her accidental implication. "I just meant – "

He saved her from herself. "I know what you meant."

"The thing is, we've never had that chance, have we? I've never given it to you. To show me who you are… who I am. And it just seems to me that it should probably come before a marriage."

"The reasoning behind the answer you want to give," he said, seeming to catch on to her train of thought.

"Yes. To prove it's what we both want."

"To prove that I actually do like you and that my upstairs décor finds approval with your keen eye for interior design," he teased, smiling openly now.

She took a chance and smiled back, aware that she sounded a little bit ridiculous. But that was okay. She could cope with ridiculous, after everything. Ridiculous was a big step up from being closed off and unavailable. "Yes. So… what do you think? About this chance, will you..?" It occurred to her that he might have had enough of her, despite the affection his face currently held. She bit at the inside of her cheek to distract herself from the possibility he might tell her to bugger off and leave him alone so he could go back to _Saturday Kitchen_ and the three-egg omelette challenge.

"Where do you want to start?"

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Thanks for reading!

There will be a second part to this, just as soon as I decide what to do with it and finish writing it. Hopefully soon… :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own Spooks. Nor do I own Saturday Kitchen, MasterChef or Nigella's Kitchen, although you may be able to tell a little about my TV viewing habits from this list.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter! You all make me smile lots. Anyway, my apologies this has taken a while. It was supposed to be the last chapter, but I got stuck and now it's not… Enjoy!

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"_Where do you want to start?"_

The words were out of his mouth so quickly there was no opportunity to call them back, not that he wanted to. This was no time for hesitation. This was everything he wanted. Well. Most of it. Sort of.

"Erm," Ruth said, clearly undecided how to answer his question.

He decided to make use of his quietly renewing confidence and help her out. "Why don't we start with you taking off your coat and then I'll give you a tour of my house, so you can tick that one off your list of things to discover."

"It's not a list, Harry," she said earnestly. "It's not some box ticking exercise. I'm being serious."

He smiled at her softly. "I know." He summoned up his courage and stepped over to her, grasping the loose hanging edges of her coat and sliding them carefully back over her shoulders.

She helped him out by pulling her arms out of the sleeves. Then she turned to move, but couldn't, trapped in the limp circle made by his arms and the coat he held in his hands. He could practically see her thought process as she decided what to do about it. He expected her to give it a minute to see if he'd move before looking at him pointedly until he did. She surprised him by moving forwards until they stood toe to toe, his forearms brushing against her sides through layers of clothing. He could feel her breathing, but she was wearing too many layers to be able to feel her heart beating.

He wondered if maybe that had been the problem for so long: she was so used to hiding herself under layers of clothing and emotional obfuscation, she'd forgotten that at the core of it, everything is really very simple, if she'd only let it be. But then the human mind was a complicated thing and she'd been through a lot – more than most – and was an analyst by trade so Harry supposed it was only natural she'd get caught up in the minutiae of it all, finding it hard to let go and give in to it. He silently vowed to help her pick her way through it. Today was a massive leap forward, more than he had been hoping for since the great proposal debacle and everything that came after.

He decided that later, as part of their little reasoning and exploration process, he'd make sure he felt her pulse against his skin.

"Are you going to show me your house, then?" she asked him, quietly.

"Yes. Although we'd better steer clear of the lounge unless you're a fan of Saturday Kitchen."

"You should talk to Beth. She loves it. Any cooking show, really. I've lost my telly to endless repeats of MasterChef and Nigella's Kitchen."

Harry grinned. "Ah, well now, Nigella's not so bad, is she?"

"You're a fan of the sultry brunettes, then?" She said it so breezily. Harry was certain she was still talking about Nigella.

He wasn't. He fixed her with a look. "Yes."

She held his gaze for a moment and then looked away. Then she turned back and hugged him, hard, too briefly for him to be able to return the gesture. Speaking to his chest, she said, "Thank you."

He looked down at the top of her head, feeling several mussed strands of hair brushing against his lips. "Upstairs?" he asked, unsure whether it would actually be possible to bring his suddenly wildly beating heart under control.

She nodded and seemed to recover herself a little, so Harry moved away and hung up her coat on the bannister before leading the way up the stairs without another word.

He took her to the front of the house first, feeling a little silly but at the same time knowing that this was somehow good for them. He pushed open a door and stepped back, gesturing Ruth forwards to look inside. "This is the crap room," he said, nodding to the box room piled high with tat he should probably throw away but just couldn't bring himself to part with.

"Nice," Ruth said, humour in her voice. "I had to clear out my crap room when Beth moved in."

"Well, I have some extra space in here so if there's ever anything you feel worthy of being homed in a dedicated crap room never to be seen again for all eternity, feel free to bring it over and store it here."

She looked up at him then, and smiled a smile that made him feel like a giddy teenager. "I'll hold you to that."

He leaned in close, and whispered, "Do."

The spare room was next on his impromptu house tour, the walls painted blue and the room sparse, furnished only with an unmade double bed, a small wardrobe and an empty dresser. Then the bathroom, white and perfunctory. Then his own bedroom. Harry felt his heart beating wildly as they both stood in the doorway. Ruth cast her gaze around the room. Harry watched her and hoped she wouldn't notice the dirty socks in the corner or the pile of still-to-be-ironed shirts hanging over the top of an open wardrobe door.

"Nice room," she said, looking at the bed.

"Thank you."

"Lots of light."

"Yes, that is a benefit."

She turned back to face him. "Harry."

"Hmm?"

She looked uncertain. "This whole reasoning thing…"

_Oh, don't you dare back out now, not this soon._ He dug his fingernails into his palms and used the pain to school himself. "Yes?"

Ruth shuffled nervously on the spot, looking at his neck. "I was thinking, erm…" Then she abruptly stood up on tiptoe and kissed him lightly, just long enough that it couldn't be called entirely chaste, not long enough for him to properly react and reciprocate.

Her lips were soft, and based on the fleeting brush against him, so was the rest of her.

"Sorry," she said. "I just wanted to – "

There was no way he was going to let her apologise for that. He stepped into her, her back meeting the doorframe and his hands finding her hips. He tipped his head down. "Excellent thought," he said, and let himself give in to temptation. She fell with him.

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Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought and if anyone has any suggestions about what should happen, they'd be very gratefully received because I have The Block. Thank youuu!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thank you SO much for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter and an especial thank you for all the suggestions as to what should happen next. You're all wonderfully pervy. Sadly, I lost my nerve when it came to writing, shall we say, 'bedroom shenanigans', but hopefully what actually happens is okay too. I may get drunk one evening and attempt something vaguely mature at a later date… Special thanks to oldmule, who made some additional suggestions I've incorporated towards the end. Enjoy!

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It felt amazing. She could feel the wooden doorframe, solid against her back, anchoring her. She could feel Harry's body against hers, pulling her awake when she didn't even know she'd been sleeping. And she could feel his lips on hers, soft and pliable and just the right side of hungry.

His hands were on her hips, holding firm. With every little brush of his fingers against the fabric of her skirt, she gave in a little more.

But this wasn't quite how it was supposed to go.

"Harry," she said, in between snatching a kiss and stealing a breath.

"Mmm?" He slid one hand around her back and pushed his hips against her.

She almost gave up right there and then, but the rational part of her brain was not easily silenced. Ruth slid her hands to his chest and pushed him ever so slightly away, just enough that she could breathe without being distracted by his own breath flushing across her face. "Hold on a minute," she said, her voice sounding reluctant even to her.

His heartbeat was against her palm and it was racing. His skin was warm through his shirt.

_Oh God._ She let herself kiss him one more time. "Harry, wait."

"Too fast?" he asked, sounding slightly apologetic.

"Yes," she said without thinking. Then she thought about it. "No." She rested her forehead against his collarbone and tried to get herself together. When she thought she was at least a little more collected, she looked up at him again to find him watching her intently. "It's not too fast," she said, "but…"

"Ah," he said. He stepped back from her but took her hand in his before she could feel the loss of him. "As long as there's a but, why don't we go and have a cup of tea?"

Sometimes she hated that he was the understanding one and she was the mess. Surely it was meant to be the other way round?

"And a chat," he added.

Ruth wondered how the hell she was going to explain _this_ one.

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Harry felt nervous as he moved about his kitchen, collecting mugs and teabags and milk while he waited for the kettle to boil. Ruth sat at the small table, fussing over the dog who had come over to say hello when they came back downstairs. The television was still on in the living room, suddenly seeming much too loud. Harry couldn't stand it, so he went and switched it off and by the time he came back the kettle had boiled and Ruth was pouring the tea.

"Thank you," he said, a little unsure of exactly how he was meant to be acting right now, after their little interrupted tryst upstairs. He wasn't upset or angry that she'd called a halt to proceedings – quite the opposite, in fact (better she tell him sooner rather than later, after all). But he wasn't sure if further, gentle affection would be welcomed or if they were back to maintaining a safe distance for the time being.

The intensity of the look she gave him when she handed him his mug of tea, though, took the decision right out of his hands and he found himself dipping his head to kiss her again, stopping only when a splash of tea ended up on his hand instead of in the mug. It sobered him and he pulled back, aware she was following some sort of mental process here. He doubted he'd ever be able to understand it, but he knew that to question it would only make his life harder in the long run.

And he didn't want that. Not when he had just sampled the delights that were on offer at the end of it all. The kissing, of course. That was good. And the promise of something more. But mainly, his delight came from having her in the house, just generally _with him_. It was what he'd been imagining when he proposed to her so badly (and he had to admit that he could have put the question slightly better – such as by actually making it a proper question, rather than a statement he wanted her to capitulate to) and this morning had only reinforced that desire.

"Living room?" he said, then walked there before she had the chance to answer.

He sat himself down on the sofa and waited for her to join him. She hesitated in the doorway for a moment, clearly undecided as to whether she should sit next to him on the settee or go for the armchair in the corner. She chose the sofa. Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, then," he said, softly, wondering in an obscure corner of his mind at just how simultaneously surreal and ordinary this felt. Ordinary because it was. There was theoretically nothing unusual about having a cup of tea on a Saturday morning with someone he cared about. It was surreal because he'd thought they'd lost the chance for ordinary. His stomach flipped at the thought that this might be only fleeting. He pushed the unwarranted nerves away and reminded himself that this was his house; real men didn't get nervous in their own houses.

He looked at Ruth, watching her drink her tea and study her lap. He knew she was thinking about something. She had that look in her eyes.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?" he asked her gently, after a minute. "Such as, why now?"

She put down her mug and turned to him. She looked at him beseechingly. "You'll think I'm mad."

He smiled at her, he hoped encouragingly. "I promise I won't. I'm very glad you're here, for whatever reason. A part of my mind is telling me not to question it, but… I can't help it." He took another gulp of tea and then put his own cup on the coffee table, the better to focus on her. He clenched his hands into fists in an attempt to fight the urge to touch her.

Ruth looked a little sheepish. "Well, I… I had a dream."

He quirked an eyebrow. "A dream."

"Yes."

"A dream is why you're here."

"Sort of."

He watched her intently and lowered his voice so it was laden with intent when he said, "Was it a _good_ dream?"

It took her a little moment to get it, but when she did she blushed. "Harry!"

"Well, a man can hope, Ruth." He grinned at her, so there could be no mistaking the fact it was a joke. Well. Mostly a joke. But then, the best jokes did stem from the truth… He stopped that train of thought before it could run away with him.

She laughed and shoved him lightly in the leg in retribution and he used the excuse to take her hand and hold it between them, his thumb stroking slowly over her skin.

"That's nice," she said, sobering.

"Good," he murmured. He enjoyed the brief silence before speaking again. "Continue."

"A dream is the reason I decided I wanted to come here," she said, "to find out exactly why it is I want to say yes to you."

It did sound a little bit mad but he wasn't about to complain. "To get proof as to why you want us to be together," he clarified, remembering their earlier, slightly bizarre conversation. He loved being able to talk like this with her.

Although it was a little bit confusing.

She nodded. "Yes. I had a dream about algebra, if you must know."

Well, that was unexpected. "I wish I hadn't asked."

"I told you it was mad. It just got me thinking… how when I was at school, it was so easy to find the answer to algebra problems, but I never stopped to work them out to show how I got there. It was a major source of consternation for Mr Jennings."

"Your teacher?"

She nodded again. "Yes. He used to say I couldn't be completely sure of the answer unless I worked it out properly. I'd tell him that I _was_ certain, but… apparently the people who mark exams don't share that view."

Harry checked to see that he'd got it right. "So you thought you'd apply the logic of algebra to our relationship." He hoped he didn't sound too amused.

"Mm."

"There's no one here marking us like an exam, Ruth. Whatever we decide ourselves is good enough."

She took both of his hands in hers then and smiled at him. There were tears in her eyes. "See, it's all there, Harry. You, the marriage proposal, telling me to give you a chance." She looked down at their joined hands and said, very quietly, "And the love. But there was nothing to say _why._"

Harry was still reeling from her use of the word _love._ "But isn't that enough? More than enough? We don't need to prove anything when we already know the answer." He moved very close to her, close enough that he could feel her thigh against his as they sat side by side on the sofa. "I know we're not easy, Ruth. I know it, believe me. I do. I get it. But it seems to me that we just need to take the leap. We don't have to jump straight to marriage. I understand why you might not want that straight away, but… this isn't algebra. And I'm not Mr Jennings. I don't need you to show me proof as to why we should be together. I just need you, here, with me, so we _can_ be together. It's what we both want, isn't it?" He was certain that it was, especially when she was holding his hands like she never wanted to let go and tilting her head so that her hair brushed against his chin.

There were many things he was half-expecting her to say in response. What she actually said was, "I don't like engagement rings."

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Thanks for reading :)

The next chapter will probably be the last, but then… I thought that about this chapter, too. Oops.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thank you once again for your very kind and lovely reviews. This chapter starts with strangeness (to take care of my random bout of insanity at the end of the last chapter, for which I do apologise) and then continues with epic fluff. Hope you enjoy :)

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"I don't like engagement rings." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to kick herself. _Way to wreck the mood, Ruth_.

Harry seemed a little perplexed. "You… er… don't like…"

"I think they're a bit sexist," she said, speech apparently totally disconnected from any rational thought process. "Not that they don't look nice. Because they do. And they're sweet, I suppose. But still… a bit sexist."

"Well, yes, I suppose they are. Thanks for the tip off." He sounded more amused than anything else, which was probably the best she could hope for given that she had just completely ruined his lovely speech.

Then she thought about another thing he might have assumed from her little outburst. "I didn't mean that I want to get married right now. Not that I don't want to at all, of course, but… oh, bugger it." She buried her face in her hands and wondered vaguely if the Dignitas clinic would view embarrassment as a qualifying terminal condition.

Harry laughed and then wrapped his arms around her, a bit awkwardly because she was still wishing the sofa would swallow her up and transport her to a parallel universe where she wasn't completely incompetent at romance, and especially at romance with Harry.

"Don't worry," he said, charmingly. "I'm not a dinosaur. If I have a diamond engagement ring too, would that make it better?"

"Oh God, don't tease me."

He chuckled again. "I'm not." Then he sobered and softened, pulling back slightly. She could feel him looking at her. "We could just have a short engagement. When the time is right," he clarified. "To eliminate the need. Are wedding rings okay with you?" He sounded like he was genuinely asking.

She nodded and made herself look at him. The understanding and affection she saw on his face made her think that there might just be some hope left, after all. "I'm sorry I'm so useless at this."

"You're not useless at this. That said, I've never met anyone yet who was actually _good_ at this, so I guess it's all relative, really."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Well, that's true." She put one hand on his knee and let it rest there. "Harry."

Whatever else she was planning on saying was lost as he tipped her head up with one finger beneath her chin and then kissed her with such sincerity, there didn't really seem to be anything she could say to top it.

* * *

They were interrupted long minutes later by Harry's dog, who had apparently had enough of being ignored.

It took a while for Ruth to surface. They'd barely moved from their starting position, both of them still sitting upright on the sofa next to each other, legs brushing, torsos turned just enough to get their arms around each other. It was hardly a display of great hunger, but Ruth had never known anything like it. It was… honest, she thought, tinged with just enough passion that she was still tingling long after Harry pulled away. And honesty was worth more than anything.

"Ruth?" Harry said, and she realised that he'd been speaking to her.

She looked at him, fully aware she probably looked a little drugged. "Sorry. I was…"

He smiled at her, clearly pleased with her reaction to him. "It's alright. I was just saying that I need to take Scarlett for a walk. Would you like to come?"

She didn't even think about it. "Yes, I would."

"We'll have lunch when we get back."

_Even better_. "Lovely."

Harry's resulting smile was immense enough to power her through the next month.

* * *

They took the dog for a brisk walk and then made lunch together in Harry's kitchen. Had the past morning not all been so unexpectedly wonderful, Ruth wouldn't have believed it was happening.

Only a few hours ago, she had been thinking that they'd lost whatever chance they might once have had and that it was all her fault. Yet now… now. Now she was sitting at the kitchen table watching Harry as he loaded the dishes into the sink and set about the washing up, having refused her offer of help. It was so brilliantly domestic she wasn't quite sure what to do with it.

No. She knew exactly what to do. There was something she needed to say. "Harry."

"Yes?" The water sloshed in the sink as he rinsed out a salad bowl.

Ruth waited until the glass bowl had clattered down on the draining board before continuing. "I just wanted to say… what you said earlier, about what we want being enough."

If she hadn't been watching him so carefully, she would never have noticed the way his shoulders tensed slightly at that. "Yes?"

She pushed away the guilt she felt at making him so apprehensive every time she bought up their relationship and decided to marvel at the fact they were talking about it at all. "You were right," she told him. "It is enough. More than that, really." She took a deep breath, steeled herself and added, "It's everything."

His doubts seemed to rush away from him with the force of his obviously relieved sigh. "Yes."

"_We're_ everything."

He spoke quietly. "Yes."

"No more mad algebra-related theorising."

That one made him laugh. "Well, I wouldn't say that. It's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I suppose. But it's not why I'm staying."

Harry said, very quietly, hands still submerged in soapy water, "I'm glad you're staying."

She wanted to touch him, so she did. She didn't think about why, or the propriety of it or any deeper meanings that may have been behind it, she just stepped up behind him as he stood at the sink and slid her arms around his middle, squeezing slightly. She lay her head against his shoulder blade and shut her eyes, relishing the warmth and comfort, listening to his heart beating and feeling her arms shift slightly as he breathed in and out.

After a moment, she felt him stretch away and reach up. She opened her eyes to see him pick up a tea towel and dry his hands. He turned in her arms as soon as he'd put the towel down and returned the hug without question, one arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist. He leant back against the sink and spread his gait a little so she fell further into him.

She felt totally consumed by him. This was what she'd always held back from, fearful for reasons she was no longer sure had ever existed. Now it just felt like completeness and not at all as scary as she imagined. She held on tight and swore she'd never let go.

* * *

**A/N: **If you like, you can pretend that this is the end. If you are one of the lovely people who encouraged me to write bedroom shenanigans, then there is another chapter on the way for you. It's not finished yet, but I've so far managed to find the nerve to get them to take off their shoes and, with another bottle or seven of wine, I'm fairly certain we'll make it all the way home although it'll probably be the most awkward occasion ever known to humanity. I'll get it finished ASAP. (Donations of wine to aid the writing of bedroom shenanigans are very welcome.)

Please let me know what you thought! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks once again for all your kind words and encouragement. You all frequently make me smile like a loon. Also, I lied. This isn't the last chapter. It's the second to last chapter. Hope it's okay, despite all the shoe-based rambling :)

* * *

The afternoon passed into evening without them really noticing, the time taken up with talking, kisses, the newspaper, the discussion of the newspaper, gentle disagreement over the comment in the newspaper, more kisses and the general frittering of time that always seems to occur when you want to hold onto it most of all.

As the light outside began to fail and was replaced inside by energy-saving light bulbs, Ruth paid a visit to Harry's boring but practical bathroom while he placed a call to the Chinese takeaway. She knew she should go straight back downstairs to avoid the impression of being one of those women who inexplicably took forever in the bathroom, but she found herself rooted to the spot in front of the locked door.

She could hear Harry on the phone downstairs and smiled at the sound of him ordering a takeaway. Elsewhere, nerves started to bubble in her stomach. It was getting late and as time wore on, she knew that expectations were… well, not necessarily building, because neither of them was like that, but… the will and the want were clearly there on both sides, so to speak.

It may have been a frivolous concern, but she was worried about her shoes.

In the event of the will and the want being acted upon, encouraged by the weight of the night and almost a decade of waiting, she didn't want to be distracted by her shoes. They were always a passion killer, in her experience. You'd be with someone, enjoying their company and their attention and then things would progress, but… you'd still be wearing your shoes and then things would have to stop while you dealt with them, by which point the mood was well and truly gone.

She wondered if she'd seem presumptuous (or ridiculous) if she took her shoes off when she went back downstairs. Then she realised that her aim of being in and out of the bathroom in less than ninety seconds had failed spectacularly and she could no longer hear Harry on the phone, so she hurried out and down the stairs, stopping at the bottom to pull off her boots before she could talk herself out of it and left them next to the coat rack before going to join Harry in the living room.

* * *

Harry was wondering about his shoes. He didn't always wear them in the house, but he'd neglected to take them off after he and Ruth got back from walking Scarlett and now he really wanted to get rid of them but was worried that Ruth might read something into it if he did.

But then… he was in his own house and of course he was allowed to take his shoes off. And if certain situations were to arise, early disregarding of his shoes would surely be to his advantage, avoiding awkward pauses and keeping things running smoothly. But if he did would it look like he…?

The sound of the bathroom door opening upstairs and Ruth walking down the stairs distracted him and he pulled off his shoes before he could think about it further, settling himself on one half of the sofa and reasoning that at least now he was prepared for any situations that may arise.

He crossed his fingers and hoped she wouldn't even notice.

* * *

Harry wasn't wearing his shoes when she walked back into the room, which was both encouraging and strangely monumental.

Not wearing shoes at this time of day suggested that they were both in for the night. Both of them. In Harry's house. For the night. Not wearing shoes.

Ruth had a sudden urge to laugh but repressed it as best she could.

"Find everything okay?"

"Yes, thank you." She went over and sat next to him, curling her legs beneath her.

He watched her do it and when he looked back up at her face, Ruth was certain that they were both wearing the same expression of bemused satisfaction.

"What did the Chinese say?" she asked, mainly as a way to stop herself thinking about shoes and just go with the flow.

"Twenty minutes." His gaze was beginning to soften as he watched her.

She nodded. They could do a lot in twenty minutes. She shuffled closer to him, then knelt up on the sofa and kissed him. She held his face in her hands, directing him gently. He let her, one hand on her arm and the other on her waist as he craned his neck up to meet her. When kneeling on a squashy surface became too much like torture on her lower back, Ruth pulled away for a minute and sat herself across Harry's lap before beginning again.

"I feel like a teenager," he mumbled in between proceedings. "Snogging on the sofa."

She gave a breathy laugh – all she could spare as she engaged herself with tracing his five o'clock shadow with her lips. "I wouldn't know," she said, self-deprecatingly. "I was always a bit too bookish."

Harry chuckled. "An excellent education for such situations. You know better than anyone the amount of juicy information you can learn from books." He tipped her backwards until her head was on the arm of the sofa cushion and he loomed over her, lips only a hair's breadth away. "And it seems to me that you've definitely been reading the right ones."

She had just enough time to work out that he was paying her a compliment before his lips caught hers and her rational mind shut down again.

* * *

It was only the sound of the doorbell and their rumbling stomachs that bought them up for air. They ate pork with mushrooms, beef in black bean sauce and egg fried rice with relish, sitting on the living room floor and chatting over glasses of terrible wine while the dog tried to join in with them. The mood was still easy as they staggered to their feet and took the dirty plates into the kitchen, deciding after a brief discussion that it was probably best to leave their glasses there as well, judging by the quality of the wine.

Ruth put the dodgy wine in the fridge and the empty Chinese takeaway cartons in the bin as slowly as she could, not entirely sure about her next move. She could hear Harry rinsing the plates under the tap – the cold tap, she realised, as he playfully flicked water at her when she turned away from the fridge.

"You evil man!" She wiped the drops of water away from her cheek and edged away from him, suddenly caught up in a fit of giggles as he ran his hand under the tap and advanced on her, threatening to do it again.

"There's nowhere to hide, Ruth." He kept coming towards her, a big grin on his face and water dripping from his fingers.

She turned and made to run away in mock horror, still laughing. He caught her easily, grasping her round the waist and pushing his hand under her top until she could feel his cold, wet hand against her stomach. "Oh God, I hate you!" The rebuke wasn't particularly effective when she was so clearly having so much fun and barely able to speak from laughter.

They ended up stumbling towards the kitchen door, bashing into chairs on the way and lurching around as though they were drunk, both of them finding the whole thing hilarious. They only sobered when they found themselves in the short corridor that led to the living room, Ruth's back against the door to the cupboard under the stairs and Harry close in front of her, damp hand still holding her waist.

"I've not laughed like that in ages," she said when she could speak again.

She couldn't actually remember the last time she had laughed like that so decided not to say anymore.

"Me neither," said Harry. He ran his thumb over her hip, his other hand sliding around her back and a hint of something serious beginning to show in his eyes. "Ruth."

She could feel his breath on her lips and she didn't need him to say anything else to know what he was about to ask. "Yes," she said, and pulled his head down to hers.

* * *

**A/N:** The next chapter is definitely the last this time (probably) and the rating will be going up. It's also pretty much finished (sort of) so I'll try and get it up over the weekend. Cheers, m'dears!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Here you go. Bedroom shenanigans. M-rated, so if it's not your thing or you're underage, please stop here because I don't want to offend and/or scar you for life. It's not that smutty, though. I went a bit repressed and English about it, so it's basically a big long irrelevant ramble and an exercise in writing a sex scene without using any rude words. Well. There's one rude word. You'll know it when you get there. I hope it's not all a disaster… Enjoy!

* * *

Harry often thought that there was something to be said for experience, but right now he wasn't entirely sure what it was. All of his experience seemed to have deserted him. Everything felt new again, in the best possible way. He felt like a beginner, but with Ruth pressed against him and her arms tight around his back as they stood kissing in his hallway, he decided that he was definitely more than willing to learn anew.

One thing he could remember from experience (and age), however, was that the hallway was not the place for this.

He pulled away from her slightly and said, "Upstairs?" His voice shook, but whether it belied his nerves or his excitement, he was entirely sure.

"Yes." Her voice didn't shake at all and the certainty of her answer made his confidence burst free.

He took her hand and drew her towards the stairs, pausing by the front door to flick the security bolt into place in case they didn't make it down again that night. Then he led her up the stairs in much the same way as he had that morning to give her a tour of the upper floor of his house as part of their evidence finding mission. It occurred to him that he still hadn't moved the crumpled shirts from the wardrobe door or the dirty socks from the corner of his room, but they didn't seem as important as they had earlier.

They didn't seem important at all as he and Ruth finally crossed the threshold into his bedroom and she turned to him, giving him a shy smile and a look with such depth of feeling it made him want to cry.

Harry drew her into the room until they stood at the side of the bed. He didn't know what to say so he kissed her instead, cupping her face with one hand and letting the other trail up her side, across her hips, her waist, rib cage… he stopped, remembering something. A promise he had made to himself earlier that day.

He drew back a little and moved his hands in between them, fumbling with the buttons of her cardigan, feeling her hands stroke his back through his shirt and his temperature rising. He finally got the buttons undone and pushed the knitted cardigan off her shoulders. It fell to the floor with a soft shush.

"Don't you get hot?" he murmured, sliding his hands around Ruth's waist until he found the edge of her blouse, teasing his fingers against her skin. "All these layers."

She released a shaky breath as he swept his palms up her sides, under her blouse. "Not really." Her head fell forward until it rested against his collarbone. "Might need to make an exception now, though."

He smiled and then gasped involuntarily as she pressed a kiss against the exposed flesh of his throat, nipping him slightly with her teeth. He held her tighter, hands resting just under her breasts, her pulse thundering against her rib cage.

That was what he'd been looking for: the heartbeat beneath the layers. It felt good.

Another thing that felt good was Ruth undoing the buttons on his shirt, trailing kisses along his sternum as she went. It was cool in the room but it was hard to tell from the sweat that threatened to break out across his skin. He mused in the back of his mind that he wasn't young anymore; if they went on like this, he'd have a heart attack before he'd taken off his socks.

His shirt soon joined Ruth's cardigan on the floor. He made sure her blouse followed thirty seconds after.

* * *

It was dim in Harry's bedroom. Ruth couldn't see him properly in the failing light, but part of her was glad that they were both of an age where they didn't need to have the 'lights on or lights off' conversation. They could have them on another time, when the awkward first time nerves were over and done with.

She didn't think they needed lights, anyway. The sensations he was creating in her were making her head rush and when he slid one hand up and over the cup of her bra, she had to hold onto his arm for support. "Christ, Harry."

"Alright, there?" He did it again.

Getting her own back was the only solution. A few inches shorter than him without her shoes on, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, coaxing his mouth open so she could brush his tongue with hers. Harry responded with enthusiasm, pulling her against him and sweeping his tongue into her mouth.

Bloody hell, he was good at this. She had it in her head to feel a little bit inadequate in comparison, but as soon as the thought occurred to her it flew straight back out into the ether as Harry pushed his hips to hers and she realised that he was enjoying this too. A lot, by the feel of things.

Oh God, she wasn't used to feeling this… desired. She'd gone through most of her adult life feeling a bit of a frump and generally as though this sort of experience was something that happened to other people. Suddenly finding herself in the middle of it was…

Whatever word she was going to use to complete the thought disappeared as Harry unclipped her bra and it fell to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

She could feel the bed against the backs of her legs and wondered when they'd taken the couple of steps needed to reach it. Then she decided she didn't care and that she might as well use it to her advantage, pulling Harry further into their kiss and backwards onto the bed at the same time.

They ended up sideways on to the pillows but it didn't matter. Clothes were melting away – her skirt, his trousers, her tights, an awkward moment while he sat up and removed his socks, prompting chuckles from both of them.

"I'd rather stop and take care of them now," he said, when he came back to lie with her, "than have you forever remember me as the man who kept his socks on."

That prompted another laugh and she marvelled at just how fun it could all be.

Ruth propped herself on one elbow and ran her other hand across Harry's chest, feeling little bumps and pockmarks and other markers of age and a hard life lived. His skin was warm and tempting and so she let herself give into temptation, leaning over to press a kiss over his heart before sliding her hand lower down his stomach.

His breathing quickened and then she suddenly found herself on her back as Harry flipped them over.

"I was enjoying that," she said.

"Mmm, so was I. But I want to do this more."

She was about to ask him what he meant when she found out anyway. Harry kissed her quickly and then pulled back to watch her face as he slid his fingers under the seam of her knickers, finding hot, damp flesh and teasing her gently.

"Hello," he murmured, eyes never leaving hers.

Ruth was aware that she was panting a little as he touched her and had he been able to see her properly, she probably would've thought to be embarrassed and if Harry had been anyone else in the world, she would have bolted. As it was, in the relative dark of the evening, with his free hand carefully cupping the back of her head, his warm body over her and the look of astonishing love in his eyes, she gave into it, parting her legs slightly when he pushed a finger inside her and then slowly drew it back out.

"Harry. Fuck."

He smiled, softly. "Not quite, sweetheart. But almost." The low burr of his voice resonated through her.

Almost wasn't enough. "Now." And then, because she didn't want to seem too brazen. "Please."

He looked a little punch drunk, as though surprised that they'd got this far. Ruth thought there was probably a similar expression on her face. Harry snapped out of it first, grasping the waistband of her underwear and sliding it down her legs. She managed to get herself into gear enough to help him with his boxers and then he was back lying over her, still sideways across the bed, looking at her like she was the whole world.

He didn't ask her if she was sure, and she didn't ask him. Instead, she reached for him and drew him to her and then –

She gasped as she felt him start to stretch her.

He paused, holding his weight on his arms. "Okay?"

"Yes. More than." She held him close and tipped her hips up, encouraging him on. "You okay?"

"Oh God, Ruth. Yes." He kissed her gently, not breaking the contact until he was all the way inside her.

They stayed like that for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other.

She felt full and loved and… indulgent, in an extremely good way. The tiny part of her brain not given fully over to sensation mused on the oddness of it; the ability to have someone inside you in such a way. Odd, but - as she saw Harry's arms shaking as he leant over her and his pupils expanded until they blocked out his irises like an eclipse - also rather wonderful. Strangely empowering.

"Oh my God." She was overcome with feeling for him but didn't know quite what to do with it.

He lowered his head until he could kiss her forehead. "You have no idea…"

"Oh, I think I'm starting to."

He smiled against her skin. The drop of moisture she felt land on her forehead might have been either sweat or tears. "Ruth," he said, the rush of breath he let out disturbing strands of her hair.

Harry looked her in the eye then and it seemed to lock them onto each other. He placed his weight on his elbows and slid his hands under her head as he started to move, his head coming to rest right next to hers on the bed. She could feel the rough stubble on his face against her smooth cheek. She moved just enough to be able to buss his cheek with her lips and then held onto him tightly.

The curtains of the bedroom were still open and the failed light of evening cast dim shadows into the room. Ruth could just about see the blur of lights that made up the city if she looked hard enough, but she didn't really want to be looking hard enough. There'd be time later for that. She focused herself solely on Harry, on the strangely blissful tugging sensation where they were joined and the sound of their breathing – increasing in pace, growing shallower as they fought to keep the remnants of control just before they melted away and all that was left behind was abandon.

* * *

He pulled himself up so he could watch her face as he felt restraint leave them both. She was gasping with each breath, watching him closely in return and holding onto him so tightly, he'd never felt more wanted in his life.

He wanted to say something to her, something to let her know how much he was feeling, but the words wouldn't come, nothing seeming adequate, his mouth opening and closing twice before he felt her tighten around him and tremble against his chest. She breathed his name quietly and he was touched at the intimacy of it. There was nothing big or showy here. Both of them were quiet – Harry figured that they both knew what this all meant; there was no room for theatrics.

After a long moment, Ruth calmed beneath him and then pushed her lips against his chin, murmuring softly, "Let go, Harry."

He turned his head and let his lips lie against hers as his eyes slid shut of their own volition. No, he thought, they weren't loud, but they were truthful and that was more than he had ever thought he would have in his life.

It was in his head to tell her he loved her when the end came, but the last vestiges of reason told him that he wanted to be fully compos mentis when that event occurred. This, right now, wasn't about words. This was about what the words couldn't say.

When she ran her hand over the back his head and down to his shoulder blade, her touch so light and tender he could hardly feel it, he gave in, and let himself fall.

* * *

A short while later, Harry pulled himself away from her and rolled over onto his back, finding Ruth's hand and holding it, wanting to keep some sort of connection. "Here's an algebra thing for you."

She turned her head towards him as they lay sideways across the bed. "What?"

"You plus me equals… an awful lot of fun."

He turned his head just in time to see her smile in response. "I think you're right," she said.

"Stay tonight?"

"Mmm, yes. But only if I can borrow a toothbrush."

"I think I can stretch to that."

"I'll make it worth your while."

"Marvellous."

They both shifted at the same time then as a slight draft blew in from the window frame. Harry pulled down the covers while Ruth plumped the pillows and they both climbed into his bed, lying close together in the middle of the mattress.

"Harry?"

His response was to pull her into him and wrap an arm around her, shivering from the effect of cold bed covers on flushed skin.

"I thought I should tell you. I know the answer."

"Which answer?"

"The reason I want to be with you."

He went very still and stayed that way until she spoke again, stretching up to whisper in his ear, a confession just for him – small words, simple words, but enough for him to be convinced once and for all that the two of them together made a whole, that this was the way they should stay.

He returned the words without hesitation.

* * *

THE END.

Apologies for the random lurch to schmaltz there. It was that or a bad joke about socks. I thought you might appreciate the schmaltz more. So… how was it for you? ;)

Thanks for reading! (Oh, and thanks for all the kind offerings of wine. Much appreciated!)


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